A War Without and Within
by Jeva
Summary: The Cuban Missile Crisis was a confrontation between the United States, the Soviet Union, and Cuba during the Cold War. - The world's two superpowers clash during the October 1962 conflict over placement of nuclear armaments.


_The Cuban Missile Crisis was a confrontation between the United States, the Soviet Union, and Cuba during the Cold War. In Russia, it is termed the "Caribbean Crisis," (Russian: Карибский кризис, Karibskiy krizis) while in Cuba it is called the "October Crisis." The crisis ranks with the Berlin Blockade as one of the major confrontations of the Cold War, and is often regarded as the moment in which the Cold War came closest to a nuclear war._ - cited from Wikipedia

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It was the tension that made the entire meeting oppressive and uncomfortable. Worst yet, since the cause of the tension was the silent war being waged between the world's two leading super-powers, the other nations couldn't say or do anything to relax either side. Several nations had already made attempts, but progress that was made while the two were separated was quickly undone as soon as one caught sight of the other.

Just now, they were all suffering under the most recent outburst from a heated and indignant—possibly frightened? the thought seemed ridiculous except that England knew him too well for it to be anything else—America who remained standing before them, glaring at his nemesis who merely smiled pleasantly. How the younger nation could stand up to such a person was always a wonder.

Even the oldest of the nations in that room had to shudder a little when Russia's voice politely asked with an edge of cold steel, "Monroe Doctrine? What is this? I agree with it?"

"Obviously not," said America with a smoldering heat that showed that a hotter temper was burning just beneath the surface. "It's supposed to keep nations like _you _from keeping their sleazy and manipulating hands out of the west—"

"Sleazy? Manipulating?" Here Russia looked at his pale, pale hands, so large and callous that many countries looked away at the sight of them. Most assuredly, those who made up the now-Soviet's wall of security between himself and the European nations looked stricken and sick by the sight of such hands. Even worse than those hands, however, was the icy stare that was aimed directly at the blond youth standing before them. "If I am these things, then you are not the same?"

"Of course I'm not—"

"Da. Then comrade Cuba?"

That made America pause for a moment, blue eyes behind those wire-framed glasses darkening in remembrance of that failed operation. "I did what was necessary," was all that he said on that matter. "And I will continue to do what is necessary."

"Then it is the same for me," said the Soviet who then held out his hands in an all-encompassing gesture, that child-like smile on his face making England sick to his stomach as he continued to watch the entire display. "I only help comrade Cuba who asks for help."

"Only help then, is that right?" came the heated question.

"Da. Only help."

America closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking a moment to take a breath before opening those startling blue eyes which stared intently and purposefully back at that frozen gaze. "Then explain _this_," demanded the American before slamming a folder down on the table before Russia who merely looked down on it with little interest.

Even without actually looking through the documents, England knew what they were, having already been told of the circumstances which had lead to this meeting in the first place. Reports of the most frightening nature, of war craft of the nature that only four nations possessed all within mere steps from America's front door. If it were any other weapon put there by any other nation, they would have probably already taken action against this aggressive of a gesture. America, however, continued to silently watch as the Russian calmly leafed through the documents and didn't speak until those eyes met his once more, this time a sharp look to them.

Then he merely said, "Care to explain?"

The large nation sat back in his seat before looking over across the room to someone not involved with the immediate problem. "Care to explain such weapons in Turkey's home?" he asked in a falsely cheerful manner.

America's face tightened at that. "You're not suggesting I withdraw those armaments—"

"Da. If it is that you wish I withdraw from comrade Cuba."

Silence descended upon the two super-powers and again came that oppressive atmosphere which had nearly suffocated them earlier. Besides him, France shifted in an agitated manner. England only spared him a quick glance, knowing that even if he detested that particular nation he certain understood how he felt. Except, of course, nations like France could not possibly understand what it was like to see someone like America take on such an opponent. But then, of course, this would come as no surprise to them seeing how the young nation had taken a similar action centuries ago against the super-power of that time.

Even with remembering that, England could not help but to think that the present situation had gone over America's head. The nervous sweat breaking out across the younger blond's brow giving away that America felt the same.

Eventually, after a lengthy pause, there came the quiet response, "I'll need to speak with my boss—"

"Da. It is the same with me," said Russia as pleasantly as a child who would ask their parents to play outside. With that, the large nation stood himself up, his satellite states following him and trembling as they did so. "This is all that is needed? If so, I will be taking my leave. So much work to take care of others weaker than you, is it not?"

Again a disturbing sort of smile crossed the pale man's face to which America's visage darkened in a frustrated and angered manner. "Conquering and subduing and oppressing isn't taking care of them," he said quietly, clenching his fists to keep his anger controlled in a manner that many were unused to seeing from the usually hot-headed youth.

But then, this entire conflict showed an entirely different side to more than one of these nations.

The Soviet looked down at America for a moment, still smiling, before he slowly approached. "You do the same, do you not? Care for the weaker ones because they are unable to? Like comrade Cuba. I only help because more powerful nations wish to upset him and the one who gives him direction. Da, and who is this more powerful nation?"

A tightening of the jaw was the only reaction from the other super-power.

Russia continued, not hesitating or pausing in his speech or movement to come steadily closer, only coming to a stop when he was face-to-face with his enemy, "It is you, America, is it not?"

Unable to hide his emotions nearly as well as the pale man before him, America glared sharply back. "I'm not like you," he said tightly, the explosive heat just beneath the surface of his words.

Nations behind either of these two conflicting forces watched with horrified awe and fascination to see which one would land the first blow. As of yet, there had been no real physical confrontation but month after month, year after year, the tension and aggressive behavior grew and grew in frequency and intensity. For nearly twenty years, they'd all been waiting for official war to be declared, but neither nation would carry through with the threat that they both could read between the lines of their words. Neither would, really, with the threat of nuclear warfare being the only solution.

So they continued to bait each other, continued to stare down one another while one made a move to come closer to checking the other before completely defeating their enemy in this game of risk.

As it was, Russia merely cocked his head to the side, looking down at America as if he just could not figure the younger nation out. Not that anyone could blame him. If ever America was as predictable as people continuously said he was, then they would never have this situation still going on and on without any action taken. After a moment's consideration, the Soviet then gave another smile, this one softer somehow and yet still more horrible to look upon. He then leaned in close to the blond in front of him, who stood his ground just as he always had and probably always will, and whispered into an ear words that no one else in the room could hear.

An odd expression crossed America's face then, and England found himself with other nations in standing up. It was a gesture that apparently had the effect of a threat as Russia then stood up straight and smiled to them all, that cold, possessive smile that he gave to all his soviet satellites.

"Do not worry," he said kindly, ignoring his enemy completely to address those who stood behind him. "Some day soon, you will all become one with me, yes?"

And with that, Russia and his party left the room, leaving the unsettled nations that remained to look to America who continued to stand where he was, looking at nothing, that odd expression still on his face.

Somehow elected to be the one to approach him first, England carefully approached the taller, younger nation that had once been part of his own empire, peering closely to try to discern just what that look on his face was. "Alfred?" he asked, using his other name to hopefully show that the meeting was over and Russia had already gone ahead to do God knows what in his diabolical scheme.

It did its work to snap the American out of whatever world he was in at the moment, but what was intended to have steady his nerves only seemed to make the fine tremor running through the young nation's body worse. A hand went to America's mouth in a gesture that could be taken as pensive but England could recognize it as something different. A sickened motion. "Sorry," came the somehow still firm voice from behind that hand which shook more than it should. "I need to get to D.C. to talk with my boss."

Just as soon as he said it, America started to walk off without any further explanation. England quickly managed to catch hold of his suit's sleeve before he could get far. "Just a moment," he said with an unintentionally sharp tone. "You cannot possibly leave with that simple of an excuse—"

"It's not an excuse," said America tightly, and England could feel the trembling get even worse as he continued to hold onto that arm. "Look, I'm sorry, but I have to go before this gets even worse than it already is—"

"Alfred, what did Ivan say to you?"

That stopped the younger nation cold, though the trembling didn't seem to leave him. Instead, after a moment's pause, the American jerked his arm away from England and quickly started to make his way out of the room.

If England in any way thought before that the silence in that room had been unbearable, he was proven cruelly to be wrong.

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>It was only when America was well away from that room and on his own that he stopped walking long enough to sit down and put his head into his hands, running his finger through his hair and rub at his temples which ached, ached, ached with the tumult of emotions and thoughts that tumbled inside him. His hands kept trembling and the idea that he was still shaking even long after Russia had left pissed him off more than words could say. He was scared. For God's sake, he was <em>terrified <em>of what would come within the next twenty-four hours, the next week, month, year. Always going through the same motions of standing in front of that large, so large nation as he continuously spread his influence. Not only to Europe and Cuba but to the asian nations as well.

To even himself with those damning words that that cold, so cold and yet somehow so strong nation had whispered in his ear.

_I like this game we have with each other but would it not be more fun if we play together? I am experienced in ways to make it more fun for you. You can play hero while I play villain, yes? I will even let you be successful hero. Is that not what you want, comrade America?_

Never had America wanted more than to wipe that awful smile off that man's face. But he'd stopped himself, forced himself to think of anything but those words or how some of them had strung a certain chord that unsettled him so horribly.

Lowering his hands and pressing them together tightly to the point that he was shaking with the exertion of force, America vowed that he would never make the first strike, that he would wait out Russia until either he or the other nation collapsed in on themselves unable to keep up this godawful silent war.

With this decision made, America stood up once more and released his hands, shaking them out and pretending that he didn't notice how they still shook a little as he walked. "All right," he said determinedly to himself, "Russia wants to play a game, then we'll play. But we're playing on _my _terms."

He felt even more sickened after he said it, knowing more than anyone just how right the Soviet nation was about their being similar. He could swear he could see that damn smile everywhere he looked for years afterward.

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.fin.

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><p><em>Author's Notes: <em>Once again, a fix I wrote like 3 years ago. I basically wrote this on a whim. And also because I find the Cold War era to be something fascinating and hilarious and tragic all at the same time. It really still effects foreign policies for a lot of nations today, even.


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